


This is Not an Asphyxiation Kink

by Catzgirl



Series: The Grunge Hobo Learns to Trust [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Rated for cursing, and a kind of graphic scene of torture, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 18:03:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13641600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catzgirl/pseuds/Catzgirl
Summary: Caleb is hiding some secrets from the gang, and they come back to haunt him at the very worst of times. Fjord is there to catch him.There is now a part 2 to this! I am keeping the three chapters as separate parts of a series, due to the rating for each being wildly different.





	This is Not an Asphyxiation Kink

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all in one go because that's the kinda bitch I am. Might get around to writing some actual smut for this pairing if I start feeling like I nail their character voices better. Writing characters with accents is so hard!

It's not something he talks about. None of the others know- besides Nott, of course, and she hardly counts (in this matter and this matter only.) 

He bears Jester's teasing with the brisk impatience that accompanies all of her jokes at his expense. The comments from the others smart a little more, but nothing that strays too close to home. Nothing that really gets to the heart of the matter. And because they don't  _know_ , there's not really anything that can be said that could truly wound him. 

So he works to keep them from knowing. 

After months on the road and in various skirmishes, his clothes are tatters held together only by the dirt and grime that crusts them. He casts mend when he needs too but does not allow them to be washed. Occasionally a public bath house will present itself, or the appropriate river, and Caleb will allow himself to be cajoled into sitting in the water, soaking up to his neck and no further. 

His red hair looks dark with grease and grime and the odd bits of gore that have been spattered there. He will take a washcloth to his face to gently rub away the very worst of the filth, but he will not wash his hair. 

When Beau threatens to dunk him bodily under the water, Nott hisses, her yellow eyes narrowed, her body sliding between them defensively. Caleb does not respond. Molly says something perfectly outrageous as a distraction, and they all let the jab slip from memory. 

He lets them think he's just a dirty hobo wizard who takes a pride in his degradation. The filth of him hides the truth, and he will do anything to keep them from knowing. 

Until he can't. 

* * *

 

 

"We'll have to use the lake." Yasha's voice is pitched only for their ears, like a whisper on the wind, calm and steady even as she carries a limp Beau over one shoulder, even as they flee for their lives, dodging roots and underbrush and each other. 

"If we can get to the dock, we can all dive off and swim to the other side," Jester, who has memorized the map that's back in her room in the inn, affirms. He knows that the lake is halved by a river that's at least a mile wide. The thing behind them detests water; it will not be able to follow. 

There are worse things than death, Caleb knows. One of them in crashing through the forest behind them, hot on their tails and angry and completely beyond their capacity to deal with. The other might be the lake. 

Nott is keeping pace at his side, her little face determined. She is the fastest of them and yet she lags beside him. He isn't sure if it's for his sake or if she's so injured that her speed is lessened- and he doesn't have time to find out. 

"I'm assuming that all of us can swim?" Molly calls out from the head of what could be called a formation if the speaker were being very, very generous. 

A chorus of agreements go up, Nott included, and that the goblin girl doesn't even look at him reaffirms his decision: He will have to do this. He will have to do this and get her to safety. It's the least of what he owes her. 

There's a burst of heat at his back and he, mid stride, pulls his diamond from a coat pocket and sends a bolt of power up through his arm, into the diamond, and behind himself in a peal of lightning. An unearthly shriek tells him that either his blind casting struck, or at the very least frightened the creature, because the flames licking at him recede slightly. 

They approach the docks and he almost fumbles, shoves Nott ahead of him, and it's  _now_  of course that she remembers, that she looks up at him with genuine terror, and says, " _Caleb_ -" and he says, "I'm fine, _go_ ," and pushes her with enough momentum that she would either have to sit down to stop or be the first one into the water. But Nott has always taken him at his word, and her trust in him doesn't begin to falter now as she propels herself forward and passes Fjord, passes Yasha, passes Jester and then Molly to leap with an impressive arc, plopping into the water a solid ten feet from her starting point. Molly follows suit without preamble, Jester at least pauses at the edge and waits for Yasha, then dives in to share the burden of Beau. 

Fjord was closest to Caleb and Nott, and now the two of them run in tandem along the dock, as the wood of it starts to glow beneath their feet, steam rising off the water around them as the thing chasing them starts to gain ground in a mad frenzy. 

"Use the edge as leverage," Fjord pants, "Jump with your knees." 

And Caleb doesn't think about cutting his jump short, about boiling alive in the water if he lands too close to the dock, because he's busy convincing himself that he will do this, he will overcome this madness. 

No one knows because he's kept them from knowing, and maybe the Gods have a sense of humor after all for it to come bite him in the ass this thoroughly. Or maybe he can use this as a chance to show himself that he's not as weak as he thinks, not as cowardly as he has needed to be. 

Maybe. But probably not. 

Fjord is the taller of them and he gets to the end of the dock a few strides ahead of Caleb, leans his entire body into his jump, presses his boots to the very edge and leaps outward, his eyes tracking back to Caleb in a clear "See? Like this." 

And in the end, he is a coward. To the core of him, there are things he cannot do, there are things that cannot be overcome, so his body falters and what should have been a graceful dive into the water become a haphazard stumble. He lands a scant few feet away, very  _very_  short of his target, and he wants to swim further  _immediately_ , he wants to clear the reach of the wrathful thing behind him that is shrieking its protest, but he lands hard enough that his head ducks under the water and  

 _O_ _h_ _fuck oh fuck oh fuck_  

He is sinking he is drowning he is not sure which way is up as he tries to scream and water fills his lungs and the darkness is coming for him and he will not make it out this time he cannot think he cannot scream he cannot 

* * *

 

 

 _"Breathe!"_  

Someone is crying. Maybe multiple someones. 

" _I said breathe,_ _goddamnit_ _!_ " And there's pressure over his mouth, causing his throat to spasm, before it draws back and something thumps on his chest, something hard and insistent right over the part of him that feels waterlogged, right where his lungs should be. He tries to suck in a breath, to follow the command, but finds his chest paralyzed, over weighted, filled with- with 

Terror rises up in him, and he is vaguely aware of being turned on his side as he begins to vomit- water pouring out of him in great wracking coughs. There's a hand at his back that alternates between encouraging thumps and soothing rubbing, and when he feels like his insides are as empty as they'll be he leans into it, takes the comfort where he can. 

"Uhhh! He never learned how to swim! He grew up, ah, in a desert! There's no water there, no way for him to learn!" Nott is covering for him, badly. The lie is evident in her every word, but whoever's listening chooses to be merciful and doesn't call her on it. 

Fjord's voice says, "The important thing is that we get him back to the inn and into a proper bed," and it's  _right behind him_ , it's attached to the hand that's rubbing his back, and under literally any other circumstances that fact would have him blushing but- 

He's soaked enough that maybe no one can tell that there are tears now leaking from his clenched shut eyes. And if they can tell, maybe they can brush it off as a reaction to the vomiting, or from the near-death experience, or from fear, Gods, he'll gladly be a crying coward if it keeps them from guessing at the truth.  

"Well, that might be the only plan of the night that doesn’t fall through," Molly's voice snipes from nearby. Jester's voice is in a titter somewhere further away, twining with Beau's low tones as some amount of healing goes on. 

"Caleb," Fjord says, dutifully ignoring their most easily-riled Tiefling, "I'm gonna have to carry you. Don't reckon you're in any shape to be walking yourself back." 

And that's- fine, fine, whatever, what's one more point of embarrassment in this disaster anyway? He manages a small nod, and the half-orc slips one arm behind his knees, one behind his shoulders, and lifts him without even a grunt for the effort. 

Caleb brings one hand up- blind, and he feels like he's blind for more of his life than not- and scrabbles until he finds some purchase on Fjord's armor, says, "I can-" but what can he do? Caleb Widogast, a man on the lam, a man without a home or a purpose, a man who cannot bathe without panicing, who literally cannot swim to save his own life. He lets the sentence die on his tongue, its natural conclusion, and says instead, "You should have just left me." 

He tucks his face against the other man's chest, unwilling to deal with the world outside of Fjord's arms, even as the man in question goes suddenly and dangerously taut. He knows what Caleb knows, and it's that they all would have been better off if Fjord had left him in the water. Probably just his sailor's instincts that had him pull the wizard to safety- or his affection for Nott, who at least would have mourned him for a while before moving on with their new companions. Sailors instincts, and now they would continue to lug him around, this Caleb-sized burden, and he registers that he's crying still but that Fjord is wet enough that he won't notice. 

When the darkness comes for him, this time he welcomes it. 

* * *

 

 

The first thing he knows is warmth. 

Someone has tucked him into bed, and there's sunlight coming in through the room's little window, and he can feel it on his face without having to open his eyes, so he doesn't. He just lays there and lets the warmth sink into his bones and the noises of the inn wash over him. 

There's the steady humdrum of the dining area below them: plates and mugs and voices, all vying for dominance. There's the cityscape outside the window: horses and pedestrians alike, vendors hawking their wares to passersby. There's a figure in a chair nearby, or maybe the adjacent bed, breathing calmly and evenly as though in sleep. 

"Caleb?" A creaking of a chair, "I know you're awake." 

He sighs and opens his eyes, lets them drift over to meet Fjord's sharp yellow gaze. 

"I am," he says by way of greeting. "I hope that you have not been waiting overlong," and his voice sounds  _wrecked_ , his voice sounds like he's just puked up half a lake, which is less than ideal but what he has to work with nonetheless. 

 _Strap him down, boys_  they'd said, and Caleb has to shut his eyes against Fjord's considering look, turns his face the other way, because he will master this if it kills him. 

It nearly had. 

"I'm not exactly sure how much o' that you remember," Fjord rumbles, and there's a scraping sound of wood on wood as he moves closer to Caleb's bedside, "But you said some mighty concerning shit back there, and I got something of a bone to pick with you over it." 

It's nice, it really is. It's more than Caleb deserves. 

 _Tell us where you got it from_ they'd said, his ears already ringing from just a few moments upside down,  _the only one here hurting you is you._  

He reaches one hand up, brushes his hair away from his forehead, cringes at how clean it feels- just from a dip in the lake? 

"Since you were wet anyways, we took the liberty of washing your clothes and your hair. I hope it wasn't too much a trespass. Nott said that we could," Fjord supplies, but his voice is still hard, still waiting for an answer, and 

 _You must be thirsty_  they'd crowed,  _or else just a glutton for punishment._ He'd long since told them what they wanted to know.  _How much you_ _needa_ _repent for, huh boy?_ He'd been a coward, he'd been a snitch and a rat and a coward, and it had failed him.  _What else you done stole or_ _magiced_ _that no one knows about_ _yet?_  

The water was filling him again. His breaths started to come in choked gasps as his lungs closed off, desperately trying not to breathe in even as he took huge gulps of air. He felt as though he were underwater as it poured down the length of his body, filling his mouth and nose and leaving him stuttering, hiccupping, unable to answer through his spluttering, which only made them laugh harder. 

 _What's the matter kid_  they had asked, striking him in the stomach hard enough that he vomited, the bile dribbling all over his face, into his nose, being washed away in the next torrent of water,  _Cat got your tongue?_  

"CALEB." 

There were yellow eyes staring down at him. Yellow eyes, not brown. A green, mostly orc face, not a pale human one. 

"Caleb, it's alright. I'm here," and Fjord was on top of the bed, on top of him, as though to shield him bodily from the threats his mind had conjured. A series of shuddering sobs leaked out of him, because he'd done what he could, but he should have known that he could not have hidden this forever. 

"We were- we were in prison," he gasps, trying to push himself up. Fjord is having none of it, growls so that Caleb stops moving, the much bigger man moving to the side and physically lifting him into a sitting position, moving him so that his back rests against the headboard, his hands brushing down Caleb's chest and back as though searching for injury. 

"Lot o' people go to prison," Fjord says, voice a good deal kinder than before, "Not always 'cause they've done something wrong." 

Caleb shakes his head, and then laughter bubbles up in him, hysterical, because it's so like Fjord to think the best of his companions, and so unlike to Fjord to have missed the mark completely. "Nott and I, we were in prison," he tries again, "We had to get out. We almost-  _I_ almost died there." 

It's as close to the truth as he wants to get. Fjord's eyes are still boring into him, searching for something that Caleb doesn't want him to find, and the warlock says, "They tortured you," in a voice that's filled with- with some emotion he can't name, but that approximates disappointment. 

And that's- that's fine, he thinks, letting his eyes close again. The darkness of his own eyelids never judges him, and he can live with Fjord thinking less of him if he doesn't have to actually see it. He nods, once, miserably, mouth pressed into a thin line to keep his lips from wobbling with the sobs still building up in him. 

"And that's why you don't wash your hair. Can't stand getting' your head wet?" 

They'd nearly killed him, by the end of it. Sometimes he wishes they'd just finished him off. He nods again and does his best to actually sink into the bed, to fade completely from the world, but finds himself maddeningly still physical as the seconds tick by and Fjord sits with him in silence. 

"There a particular reason you didn't wanna tell us?" 

His eyes snap open again, blue and yellow meeting, and he rasps, "I'm already," and waves his hand in his own general direction. 

Fjord tilts his head, says, "Caleb, you're just gesturing at all of you." 

More hysterical laughter, because it's better than the crying that he wants to do, and he chokes out, "Yes. That would be the point I'm getting at." 

He's been watching them all for months, at first because he needed to be sure that it hadn't been a mistake to drag Nott along with these fucking lunatics, and later because of how interesting they all turned out to be. He's been watching them for months, so when Fjord's yellow eyes go molten and golden, he knows exactly the level of anger he's evoked. 

If he could physically shrink any further, he absolutely would. Alas, though he's been asleep for Gods know how long, his magic still feels drained and withered under his skin, so he lacks the ability to transmute himself into so much furniture, and the skill to do so even if his magic were brimming full. 

So he makes sure to stay perfectly still instead, the only suitable response left to him, as Fjord leans in and brackets his body on either side with green, muscular arms. 

"I am gonna say this as clear as I fuckin' know how," the half Orc says, voice a quiet rumble from the very center of his chest that passes over Caleb like a living creature. "I thought that we were gonna make this shit work. Hell, I even thought that it was working, but apparently I am a godsdamn idiot." 

Caleb tries to turn his face away, because he can live with this, he can live with Fjord's dismissal and Fjord's disappointment and Fjord's utter contempt as long as he doesn't have to actually see it, but there's a sharp growl and one of Fjord's hands finds Caleb's chin, forces him eye-to-eye as he says, "You are a fuckin' member of this group, and a damned important one at that. Hell, rest of us would be in the stockades in Trostenwald still if it wasn't fer you and your books and figuring out what the fuckin' toad devil was." 

This is not happening. This is a fever dream. That's the only explanation that makes sense. 

"So I don't know, Caleb Widogast, what the fuck kinda self-depreciation bullshit you got going on over being tortured by some pieces of shit in some godsforsaken prison, but I am making a promise to you that if we meet those sons of bitches over the course of this little adventure, I will rip the still-beating hearts from their chests." 

This is a fever dream. This is a hallucination. He knows that Fjord never says anything that he doesn't mean, that Fjord believes that people should just do the things they say they'll do, and yet he also knows that no one says things like this and means it. 

"And in the meantime," and the grip on his chin tightens, and he instinctively leans in slightly, tilting his face so that he can't see the expressions writ there, only the emotions flickering in those incredible eyes, "I'm gonna need you to cut the wanting to die shit right out. I planned a mighty stern lecture over it, but I'm pretty sure that this will suffice." 

And then he sets his mouth to Caleb's. 

It's- gentle. Just lips pressed together, a promise and a pact. Fjord pulls away after a long moment, alarmed doubt guttering his eyes, until Caleb surges forward, both arms coming up to wrap around the other man's shoulders, running a hand up the back of his head and reveling in the close-cut texture there. Their lips meet for the second time with greed and hunger, tongues and teeth and the tiny, contented noise Fjord makes deep in the back of his throat that Caleb swallows whole. Fjord braces one of his arms against the headboard, lets the one on Caleb's chin slide to cup his cheek instead, holding him close with all the gentle reverence of a man in-

He is drowning, and he's happy to go if this is the method fate has chosen for him. 

When his breathing becomes erratic, when the hand against the back of Fjord's neck starts to tremble, Fjord pulls away as exactly as breathless as Caleb feels, saying, "It's okay, it's alright darlin, I'm right here." 

"Fjord," he whispers, more to ground himself into the moment than to actually get the man's attention, leans into the offered embrace and lets his forehead rest against the warlock's collarbone, "Fjord, I'm not what you-" 

"I don't like your tone, first of all," and he feels more than hears it, the deep baritone melting over his skin, "And I'm sure I'm not gonna like how that sentence ends. So why don't we just save ourselves an argument?" He clutches Caleb a little tighter, arms the best armor money can't buy, and says, "I'm gonna help you figure this out. We'll make it work, yeah?" 

It's so stupid. He starts to tear up, and it's so stupid that Fjord even remembers that, that Fjord guessed at how much trust Caleb was already investing into this months ago when he'd told Fjord that he wanted their group to stick it out for the long term, and then he's crying against Fjord's clavical for what seems like the hundredth time in recent memory, a large hand rubbing soothing circles into his back as he whispers back, "Yes, I suppose I can agree to that. 

Let's make this work." 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! I'm so gone for the group dads, it's gross. Let the Texblade kiss the hobo, already!  
> Please let me know if any obvious errors jump out at you. I don't have a beta so it's just me, my two hands, and the cold unfeeling wasteland of Microsoft Word.


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